Conversation Tips

When I lay spread-eagle on the floor of the bathroom, the last thing that could possibly cross my mind was, “Man. I can’t wait to eat a hunky tri-tip sandwich.”

Honestly, it was more to the tune of, “Gosh I hate my life, I hate this semester, I hate my job, I hate throwing up, I hate, hate, hate…”

Luckily the viral disease, or whatever haunted my insides, only lasted one, two . . . er . . . eight days? Residual effects may or may not be eating at me still.

The funny part about eating is that it usually is the last thing you want to do when your stomach is churning.

Is it bad to say that my favorite part about this restaurant was that it did not make me throw up?

Jack’s Urban Eats. Best place for a sandwich, a salad, stable food and a patio.

To add a bit of context to my story, the last sandwich I had eaten was from a large chain market, 24 hours earlier. The friendly sandwich-making-lady gave me too much free will over the direction of my sandwich. In the end it was two slabs of overly soft bread incasing two cups of cream cheese and avocado, a piece of warm-ish turkey and three strips of fatty bacon. Try putting that into an unhappy stomach.

All roads led to the toilet.

I was much more careful at Jack’s. I realized that I might not be able to hold my food down, that I wanted nothing to do with how the sandwich was made and seeing as I had nothing to prove to my date, I wanted the messiest thing on that menu.

Say hello to BBQ Tri-Tip, complete with a fried onion ring and a lot of sticky sauce.

“I’ll take that and a lemonade, thanks.”

“Would you like fries with that?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. My friend has fries.”

“Oh ok. Your name?”

“Leia.”

“Leah?”

“Uh. Sure.”

“Ten bucks and some change, please.”

“Oh. Um. Can I write an IOU?”

When charming the cashier did not work out so well for me (I blame it on my sickness), I went and sat on the delightful patio of the Jack’s in Loehmann’s plaza, located on the corner of Fair Oaks Blvd. and Munroe Ave.

Once assembling my stack of napkins, waiting the seven minutes for my sandwich to arrive, with a smile, from the guy that made it and letting my back warm in the sun, my happiness began to return.

I cannot begin to explain the delight it felt to chomp down on such a messy and delicious pile of goodness. Suffice it to say, I highly recommend it.

It did take five napkins, two fry stealing attempts and a whole cup of lemonade, but I am pretty sure that those elements helped to cure part of my ailments for the rest of the school day. Although the very powerful pain medication might have something to do with that too.

Jack’s Urban Eats is a place friendly to all types of food lovers; those that choose the salad lifestyle, those ready for slabs of meat and even little, picky children that just want a side of mac-and-cheese.

If you like cleanliness and order, you can watch over every step in the creation of your meal. From the light oiling and heating of the bread, to the guy with the chunk of meat and the sharp knife, to the lady that kindly fills your cup from the soda fountain machine behind the counter.

On a side note, this may help the obesity problem in America if everyone has to walk back to the counter to get a refill on their soda.

But the best part of any restaurant experience is the company. I’m afraid that my habits from the weekend lent me more towards a “Gosh, when is this over,” feeling. Or maybe it was that my date was a little sick himself and not very skilled at basic conversation.

Then again, maybe next time I shouldn’t start the conversation with the spread-eagle on the floor of the bathroom story.